It was one of those days… the kind that make you want to throw a temper tantrum. It started with Zana hiding her lunch so that I’d have to search for it instead of leaving for work on time. When the missing lunch was uncovered, I stormed out the door only to slip on black ice. After being laughed at by a group of high schoolers, I stood up cleaned my bloody knee—which was easy thanks to the new hold in my favorite jeans—and then left for work.

The ride to work was equally awesome with Zana screaming “I don’t like that song” about all of her favorites, and then crying when I turned off the stereo altogether.

Fast forward about 10 hours…

This is how it begins…Then thisYepNow she’s really upsetThis is after I showed her a few pictures of herselfAnd this is her self-imposed time out

You’ve seen that movie, right? If not, stop reading this and go Netfix it now. It rules. Ferris fakes being sick and has every high schooler’s dream day.

I think Zana is channeling her inner Ferris. She has a 103 fever, so I’m at home with her.

Now, I realize that you can’t really fake that (can you???), but the way she’s acting is pretty weird.

Sick face?

After a rough night with her in the bed moaning and kicking me, Zana woke up well rested and exclaimed “I’m sick, so I don’t have to go to school today or brush my hair!” (Brushing her hair is the bane of her existence. We may have to shave her head.)

I took her temp just to be sure; yep, still high.

And so it began… a day of snuggling, cartoons, mac and cheese, and bubble baths.

She’s been a perfect, smiling angel today. But who wouldn’t be while doing everything their heart desires?

Looks fine to me, what do you think?

I spent some time Googling to determine if this “illness” warrants a trip to the doctor. As a working mom, I tend to err on the side of a doctors visit. The sooner she’s feeling better, the sooner I can get back to the office. But I also don’t want to expose her to every yucky thing in the doctors waiting room.

My favorite finding in my internet research today was when I searched “fever hungry”– because she’s been eating a ton. Results included “Hunger Games Fever” (which she obviously has) and a lot of links to articles about bodybuilders getting fevers when they’re hungry. I had no idea! Maybe she’s a bodybuilder?! But it’s probably just a virus…

I’d love to hear if any of your kiddos have had “sick” days like these.

I’m generally a punctual person; I’m never late to a meeting and get annoyed when things don’t start on time. But for some reason, I just can’t seem to care about the fact that Zana’s school starts at 9am.

Every day, I roll up to her school at 9:15 only to be met by a locked door. I have to call the school to have one of the teachers let us in. There’s always a loud sigh on the other end of the phone line and a disapproving look when they come to the door. In the weekly newsletter, there’s always a blurb about school starting promptly at 9. Over the months the text has gone from plain text to what it is now: bold, red and in all caps. I know they’re shouting at me.

Knock, knock?

At our parent-teacher conference, the teachers said they had one important thing to discuss with me: punctuality. I tried to change the topic. “How’s Zana doing at nap time? Is she eating her lunch? Playing well with friends?”

“Zana’s doing great. But it’s really important that you get here on time so she can start the day with her friends.”

I explained that we live further than the other families, that I have to drop of Lira first, and that the punctuality problem would probably persist.

Fast forward to today…

It was just another day; we were late. I could tell you that Zana was up coughing all night, which made for a slow start this morning– but, let’s be honest, we would have been late either way.

When I pulled up outside the school, though, something was different.. two other parents were standing there with their kids looking stressed out.

“Do you know the number to call to get them to open the school?” they asked. “We’re freezing out here and don’t know who to call.”

“Of course!” I said. “And if you guys would be late more often, then you’d have the number on speed dial like I do.”

And just like that, I went from zero to hero… saving the day with my standard, morning phone call.

“Hi there, it’s me.” (I don’t have to tell them my name anymore.) “Could you come open the door, please? There are a few kids waiting to come in.”

I didn’t get a sigh or a condescending look! It felt awesome… like I had won something. But what?

For the rest of the day, the “Real Men of Genius” soundtrack has been playing in my head. The ones that Bud Light used to run?

If you’re reading this, then I’m going to assume that you’re not grossed out by poop. The title sums up what you’re about to hear. I was having a hard time choosing between the one above and “Why Won’t You Poop on the G*dd&#n Toilet Instead of Everywhere Else?!” but “Purse Full of Poop” seemed catchier, no?

Zana, who turns 3 in February, still hasn’t made the decision to poop on the toilet. I say “made the decision” because I know she’s 100% capable of doing it. She pees on the potty without a problem (most of the time), but #2 has only happened on the potty a few times. Recently, we’ve started forcing the issue by having her wear underwear instead of Pull-ups.

Uh oh, about to blow?

The logic goes something like this: she’ll go all over herself a few times, not like the feeling, and then use the potty forever after. Unfortunately, our trickery hasn’t worked. Here are a couple of my favorite not-wearing-a-Pull-up moments from the past week:

1. I pick up my darling daughter at school and receive the exciting news that she didn’t have any accidents that day. Hooray! When we walk in the house, I say “Zana, let’s go to the potty.” To which she replies, “I don’t need to.”

Then, within one minute, she tells me she peed in her pants. I calmly start cleaning up the puddle of urine while she takes her clothes off and puts them in the laundry room. I don’t even get to finish the job when I hear, from the other room, “Mommy, I poopied!”

What the…???

“Where?” I ask; it wasn’t anywhere obvious. My little girl had climbed naked on top of the brown, leather ottoman, squatted, and done her business. I was so grossed out that I wanted to wipe her little butt with the Lysol wipes, like I used on the ottoman… but I refrained.

2. Some neighborhood friends invited us over for dinner for the first time. Everything was going beautifully– the kids were playing in the basement and the grown-ups were enjoying a lovely meal and multiple bottles of wine. Zana had used the potty at least once, so I was feeling pretty good about my decision to let her wear underwear… until I heard those dreaded words: “Mommy, I made a poopie!”

Ummmmmmm “In your pants!?”

Did I really have to ask? I tried to act casual around our gracious hosts, taking Zana into the hallway to assess the damage. It was ugly. I asked for a plastic bag and used almost an entire package of wipes cleaning her behind, legs, feet(?!), everything. Zana got dressed in the change of clothes I brought (yay for thinking ahead-ha), and put the bag of nasty-ness in my beautiful new purse that I bought last week. I’d just have to sort it out later (or throw the whole thing away at home– but they were her cute little skinny jeans and I really like those!).

I thought we’d moved on until the older girls came up the stairs carrying a dress-up skirt covered in– you guessed it– poop. “Ewwwwwwwwww,” they said as they crinkled their noses. “There’s poop on this!”

Seriously?! I can’t figure out how that happened. Did she shove the tutu down her pants? I mean, it was covered. We ended up throwing it out instead of trying to wash it, if that gives you any idea of how much poop was involved.

Our friends told us a couple bathroom stories of their own, in an effort to make us feel less-embarrassed. But all I kept thinking was “please don’t let them find any more of Zana’s poop strewn around the house.” I have a feeling they’re too nice to tell us if they did.

You’re lucky you’re cute

MomInDCity readers, you have to help me. Zana’s school says to keep her in underwear, but just today I got another bag of her soiled clothing from the teacher. Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck!

Something has happened to my beautiful, loving, caring, first-born: I think she’s possessed. It sounds extreme, I know, but I can’t think of any other reason why she’d be saying the things that are coming out of her mouth or acting the way she does.

Besides telling me I’m a “bad mom,” and screaming publicly “I don’t like you!”, she also roars and growls like a wild animal when she doesn’t get her way.

Look at this sweet, angelic face:

What’s going on behind that smile???

Can you imagine her acting like such a terror?!

I don’t think I ask for much: get yourself dressed, hold my hand when we cross a busy street, no dessert if you don’t eat any dinner. You’d think I was forcing her into the coal mines when I ask her to put away toys.

So here’s my new plan: Lira’s favorite thing in the world is her after-school Spanish program. She wants to stay until very last minute, and is upset when I pick her up any earlier. So, I told her Monday that when she doesn’t do what she is supposed to in the morning, she will get picked up early. So far, she’s gone to after care twice, got picked up early once and will be picked up early again today. 50/50 isn’t so bad, I guess?

It’s only fair to note that I was a terror of a child (surprising, I know). Not always, but definitely in my pre-teen and teenage years. And also my early 20s. And the late ones. And, well… don’t ask Dave because he’s sure to tell you that I’m still a terror of a child. But not when I was 5!

Did you or your little angels ever go through a phase like this? If so, how did you deal? I’m trying not to go Albanian on her, but if all else fails…